


Break The Ice

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hockey Player Castiel, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, NHL Player Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: Sam’s six-year-old son is obsessed with hockey, and Dean (the world’s coolest uncle) wants to get him a brand new stick for Christmas. Dean, however, is unfamiliar with the sport and feels kind of lost when he goes to the store, until he’s offered help from a handsome stranger, who seems to know a thing or two about hockey.





	Break The Ice

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an awkwardly cute Sport Chek commercial titled "Choosing A Stick."

Dean sort of misses the days when buying gifts for his nephew didn’t confound him. He could drive to the toy store and call it a day, or let a Pottery Barn Kids catalog do the work for him. Then Noah turned six – where’d the time go? – and along came specific preferences. It has to be Spider-Man (not Iron Man), Legos (not Play-Doh), trucks (not planes), and based on what Sam said at dinner last week, it’s been all about hockey for the past three months. 

“He’s obsessed,” Sam told him with a smile, mostly fond and a little amused. “We signed him up on a whim just to see if he’d like it, and now it’s impossible to get him out of his skates.” 

And because it’s imperative that Dean is awarded Uncle of the Year for the sixth time in a row, given that losing when he’s the sole candidate would be extremely mortifying, Dean spends a Friday evening alone in his apartment looking up the best sticks for youth mite hockey. 

“Jesus,” he says eventually, because after an hour of articles and lists, he’s just overwhelmed by all the choices. He’s never been good at online shopping, always too suspicious of raving reviews. For all he knows, Matt B. from Philly could be getting paid for his five-star lies.

Once the tension sets in behind his eyes from glaring at the screen for far too long, Dean sighs in defeat and conducts a new search for sporting goods stores in the area. He could, of course, just call Sam or Eileen and ask what he should buy to make life easier, but Dean is nothing if not stupidly stubborn and he’s going to figure this out on his own. 

Besides, if hockey’s here to stay, then he better do his part and learn something. 

When Dean walks into the store the following day, it’s nearly empty save for a family browsing the aisle of tennis rackets. The entire left side has been sectioned off for some promotional event Dean doesn’t look into, and instead, he heads the other way toward the array of hockey sticks lining a wall. 

There’s an employee standing beside them and Dean breathes a tiny sigh of relief. “Excuse me,” he calls out softly, waiting as the guy turns around to face him. 

Surely, the blush on his face is a result of the cold outside. 

“Hi,” the guy replies, the tilt of his head sort of dangerously charming. He’s also built like a brickhouse, all strong, thick muscle, the long sleeve he’s wearing doing little to hide it. 

“Hi, um…” Dean rubs the back of his neck, trying to spot a name tag and failing to find one. He normally _isn’t_ so bad at this; it’s just that the guy is seriously gorgeous. “I’m getting a stick for my nephew for Christmas. Do you, ah, know anything about hockey?” 

The response is a smile that, for some reason, can be described as pleasantly surprised. “Yes, a little,” he adds after a beat, before gesturing at the wall. “How old is your nephew?”

“He’s six,” Dean takes a step forward, watching the guy’s long fingers brush along the selection. They’re just as distracting as the accompanying voice, and Dean feels his heart begin to stutter in his chest. 

“He’ll need a youth stick then. Is he on a mite team?” 

“Yeah, um, down at the rec center.” Dean reaches in his pocket to pull out his phone and opens up the photo Sam sent him yesterday. “This is him in his gear,” he says a little proudly, turning the phone around so the guy can see. “Sam- That’s, ah, my brother. He says Noah’s practically living in his jersey these days. I don’t really know anything about hockey though. I need to start watching games if I’m gonna keep up.” 

“That’s great of you to be so supportive. Noah sounds like a lucky kid.” 

“Nah, it’s no big deal,” Dean averts his eyes, before shrugging one shoulder. “He’s an easy kid to love.” When he glances up eventually, the guy is smiling, unfairly handsome. There are little crinkles around his eyes, so blue and brilliant, and Dean smiles back. 

To Dean’s surprise, the guy ducks his head, his cheeks slightly pink and endearing as hell. “So, I know your brother’s name and your nephew’s…” He looks up again. “Can I ask yours?”

“Oh,” Dean laughs, embarrassed. “Yeah, of course, um… My- I’m Dean.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean, I’m Castiel. But most people call me Cas for short.” 

“Cas,” Dean gives that a try, enjoying how the sound rolls smoothly off his tongue. “It’s nice to meet you too. Thank you for helping me win brownie points with Noah this year.” 

“Well, I hope so,” Cas hands him a stick, which weighs hardly anything. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Dean rotates the stick for a closer look and squints at the handle. “Novak,” he reads. “A player, I’m guessing? Is he any good?” 

Cas huffs a soft laugh. “Not bad,” he says. “If it means anything, I like that one. It’s sturdy with a high loading ratio.”  

The technical phrase goes over head but Dean simply hums and nods along. “Hey, I asked you for your recommendation, didn’t I? I’m sure this dude didn’t get his name on a hockey stick for nothing.” 

Castiel smiles. “I suppose you have a point,” and yes, Dean’s aware that it’s Cas’ job to be polite, but he can’t discount the feeling that there’s _something_ here, bright but hesitant like a glowing flame. 

It’s enough to make him brave, to take a deep breath and make the first move. “Right, so, um, I’m not usually this forward but…” Oh, god. Oh, _god_. “I was wondering what time you’ll-” 

“Cas, there you are,” a voice cuts in, followed by a brunette in clacking high heels. “Everyone’s lining up. We’re ready for you.” She fails to acknowledge Dean until she’s done talking, deigning to arch one, perfectly groomed eyebrow at him. “All press has to check in with me.” 

“I- I’m not… Cas was just helping me,” Dean lifts the stick to serve as proof, both confused and terribly disappointed at being interrupted. What was going on? 

The brunette continues to look unimpressed and Dean’s honestly never felt so intimidated, but then Cas steps closer to touch Dean’s wrist, his eyes wide and earnest. “I’ll be done in an hour.” It might be Dean’s mind playing tricks on him, but he can catch a little nervousness crossing Cas’ face. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy, but-” 

“No, no, it’s okay. I can wait,” Dean says. It’s gotten louder inside the store and Dean tracks the noise to the other end, where a queue is forming rapidly in front of a table and snaking through the doors and onto the sidewalk. “What’s the event for?” he asks Castiel, turning back around to find the brunette staring in disbelief. Sheesh, when did it become a crime to ask a question? He can’t help but hunch his shoulders a bit.

“We’re raising money for the YMCA,” Cas tells him easily as he starts to walk away. “I’ll see you in an hour,” his smile is luminous, and he gives a dorky little wave at the end of the aisle.

The cashier is open, fortunately, allowing Dean to check out without a fuss. He thinks he ought to wait in his car for the rest of the hour, and tries to find a way to maneuver past the crowd.

But the crowd is dense as it is large, and Dean is caught lingering beside the line when he hears a voice carrying brightly over the chatter. “Uncle Dean!” his nephew calls, his head just barely above the barrier rope. “Uncle Dean, over here!” he says, his grin huge and ecstatic when Dean finally spots him. “How’d you know we were here?” he asks immediately, and behind him Sam looks almost as perplexed as his son.

“Yeah, man, did you know about the signing today?” 

“Signing?” Dean frowns. “For what?”

“The Angels!” Noah jumps up and down, nearly stepping on his father’s foot. 

“His favorite team,” Sam says with a shrug. “A few players are here for a fundraiser.” 

“Oh, right, for the YMCA.” Dean ruffles Noah’s hair. “You excited, bud?” 

“Yeah!” Noah smiles at him. “I’m gonna ask them to sign my jersey.” 

Sam catches Dean’s eye and lets out a sigh. “Now, he’ll never take it off for sure.” But his gaze is fond when he peers down at Noah and Dean wonders how in the world Sam ever says ‘no.’ 

“What did you get, Uncle Dean?” Noah asks him eventually, having noticed the oversized bag in Dean’s hand. Luckily for Dean, the paper material obscures the contents inside, but he still flushes a little anyway as he says, “Just a new, um, tennis racket.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow and doesn’t say anything, though judging by the tiny quirk in his lips he has an inkling of what Dean was up to. Noah merely nods and pays it no mind, and Dean is very grateful that he’s six and trusting. 

The line is moving more quickly than Dean expected and soon there’s just a single row in front of them. Noah’s practically buzzing from how thrilled he is, his hand tugging Dean’s every time their queue shifts. Once they’re close enough for a staff member to check off Noah’s wristband, Dean asks, “So, kiddo, who’s your favorite player?” He can feel Noah’s pulse radiating from the point where his hand is cradled inside of Dean’s. 

“Novak,” Noah beams, and Dean breathes a silent sigh of relief. Thank god Cas had been there to help him earlier; Dean will have to tell him- “Castiel Novak.” 

He freezes. “What?” he asks, just as the line twists a final time, putting them near reporters and a long, covered table where three players are sitting- “Oh my god.” 

“He’s the captain,” Noah explains, unaware of all the color quickly draining from Dean’s face. He’s still clasping Dean’s hand as they approach the table and, god, Dean was such an _idiot_. 

Cas is the last of the three to sign, and his eyes are wide when he catches sight of Dean. He looks vaguely guilty, pleading almost, even though it was mostly Dean’s fault for being oblivious, but the second Noah hands him the jersey, he schools his expression into something friendly.

“You must be Noah,” he smiles kindly, uncapping his Sharpie to sign the back. 

Of course, Noah’s mouth drops open and, Jesus, so does Sam’s while Dean flushes pink. “You… H-how do you know my name?” 

“I’m Dean’s friend,” Cas says like it’s nothing, which prompts two pairs of hazel eyes to stare at Dean instead for an explanation. 

“Um… I… Surprise?” Dean says, wanting the floor to swallow him whole. Cas clearly takes pity and rescues him, telling Noah, “Dean tells me you really like hockey.” 

“I do!” Noah says, delighted. “I wanna get super, super good like you. My parents said I’ll need to practice a lot and stuff, but that’s okay. It’s really fun.” 

“That’s awesome,” Cas replies, reaching out his hand so Noah can high-five him. “Keep working hard and I’ll see you on the ice, right?” 

Noah’s “Yeah, for sure!” sounds breathlessly happy. 

Cas gives the jersey back to him – and Dean notes how carefully he handles it – before turning to Sam to shake his hand and greets, “Hello, Sam” like that’s completely natural. And Sam, for all his stature, looks about ready to topple over on the spot, though to his credit, manages well enough to say, “Hey, um. Thanks for doing this.” 

“My pleasure,” Cas shakes his hand then winks at Noah with a soft, “Good luck.” His gaze turns hopeful when he looks at Dean and it stirs up butterflies. “I’ll see you after?” 

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs quietly, his heartbeat pounding jackrabbit fast. He has to wonder if this is some kind of prank and he’s gonna end up a laughingstock on the Internet. But Cas is earnest, obviously so, and perhaps it’s unfair to doubt his intentions simply because he has wealth and fame. Either way, he barely has time to dwell on it before they’re shuffled along and out of the line. 

“Dean, what the _he_ \- heck,” Sam grits, mindful of his son being in earshot. “Since when are you friends with Castiel Novak? How did he know _Noah_ and-”

“Sammy, calm down.” 

Sam furrows his forehead. “Dean, I’m serious. I thought you knew jack squat about the NHL.” 

“It’s true!” Dean says, sounding pained. “I just met him today and he… We talked a little bit.” 

“Uh huh,” Sam is totally suspicious, “which is why he’s giving you the goo-goo eyes.” 

“Hey, can you blame the guy?” Dean tries to joke, but the red in his cheeks probably ruins the effect. “Look, I just came here to buy a… a racket, and I thought he worked here, okay? I didn’t know!” He bites his lip and chews on it, glancing back at the table where Cas is still signing. “He asked me to wait and then I found you guys- Jesus, Sammy, he’s _way_ out of my league, I don’t-” 

“Whoa, hey, slow down a minute,” Sam grabs his shoulder, steady and sure. “I don’t care if he’s Batman in cowboy boots; _no one’s_ good enough for my brother, alright? And if you want to go out with him, fine, he’s a damn lucky guy. But don’t say stuff like that. You’re great on your own.” 

“Sam, come on…” Dean whines out of instinct, and his skin feels hot to the tips of his ears. And yet he can’t really fight the swell in his chest, the warmth that fills him down to his toes. He and Sam may not be the most expressive guys on the planet but when it counts, they come through for each other. 

“Dad,” Noah tugs on Sam’s pant leg, then whispers seriously, “You said a bad word.” 

Sam laughs and picks him up. “I did. I’m sorry, bud.” 

“That’s okay,” Noah pats his cheek, before turning in Sam’s arms to grin up at Dean. “Mr. Novak is cool,” he states like it’s fact, “but you’re my favorite, Uncle Dean. I love you.” 

Dean’s heart clenches tight and his throat closes up, but he hides both into a kiss he presses to Noah’s forehead. “I love you too,” he says very clearly, because he’s so, so lucky to have this. 

Sam and Noah head out a few minutes later to run some errands on Eileen’s list, insisting in no uncertain terms that Dean bring Cas to dinner on Sunday. Dean scoffs at the suggestion, calling it insane. Cas will probably be busy and it’s _not_ like that. Still, the hopeless romantic side of him thinks that maybe… Just maybe, there’s something to be said about Christmas magic. 

“Sorry for making you wait,” Cas rushes over when the last fan leaves. Over his shoulder, Dean sees the brunette – a handler, he realizes now. She’s watching them, exasperated, only to shrug and turn her attention to something else. “Would you want to get some coffee?” Cas is asking, and Dean meets his eyes, feels his heart skip a beat, then answers softly, “Sure, I’d love to.” 

The weather outside hasn’t gotten any warmer but Cas’ hand on his back shuts all of it out, and it’s kind of crazy, this sort of giddiness, like he’s floating from a lightness he hasn’t felt in a while. “Thank you for being so great with Noah,” he says. “He was over the moon to meet his favorite player.”

Cas smiles at him then, small but pleased. “You’ll all have to come to a game sometime.” 

And he says that so sure, with so much certainty, like it’s all just a matter of time. “Noah would love that,” Dean murmurs shyly. 

Cas doesn’t stop smiling. “Whenever you want. And besides,” he pauses there to stare straight ahead and let himself blush, “you’ll need to pick your own favorite sooner or later. Can’t really do that without watching games.”

Dean laughs as they reach Cas’ car and Cas opens the door for him like a gentleman. “Wouldn’t my choices be limited to you and your teammates if I only watch Angels games?”

Cas tilts his head again, playful and teasing. “Just trying to narrow my competition.”

Of course, by the end of the night Dean thinks there _is_ no competition, not when Cas pulls him close and cups his face, and then they kiss, and _kiss_ , and it’s magic.

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable link here](http://holidaymixtape.tumblr.com/post/168864959470/title-break-the-ice-author-youaresunlight) (please share if you enjoyed the fic!)
> 
> This will be my last work until January 2018! Thank you for all your support this past year and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season. ♥
> 
> As always, do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


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